


Gold Chain Bonding Jutsu

by Flossie



Series: Canon Compliant HashiMadaMito [3]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, Bondage, Boys in Chains, Chains, F/M, Gags, Kindness, Madara is a size queen, Married Sex, Masturbation, Multi, Pegging, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, authority kink, bondage and dominance but they’re very nice to each other and very in love, hashirama loves them both a lot, mito is an absolutely brutal top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-08-23 08:33:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16615547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flossie/pseuds/Flossie
Summary: “Are you sure he can take it?” Hashirama asked, voice laced with worry.“He has a voice. He knows his safe word. He’ll tell me if he’s not okay,” Mito snapped back, throwing her weight forward as she yanked on a chain which fed through a couple pulleys hanging from the center of the ceiling. When the chain jerked into motion, the couple heard a muffled grunt from the man on the other side of it. They both ignored it.





	Gold Chain Bonding Jutsu

“Are you sure he can take it?” Hashirama asked, voice laced with worry.

“He has a voice. He knows his safe word. He’ll tell me if he’s not okay,” Mito snapped back, throwing her weight forward as she yanked on a chain which fed through a couple pulleys hanging from the center of the ceiling. When the chain jerked into motion, the couple heard a muffled grunt from the man on the other side of it. They both ignored it.

“But he’s gagged,” Hashirama pressed, “How can he say a safe word if he’s gagged?”

Mito sighed and took Hashirama’s scruffy face in the palm of her hand, soft and warm. “Honey, your husband has a mangekyo sharingan. If he wants me to stop, I’ll know it.”

Hashirama looked down. Mito was right. It was just so strange to see someone else… treating Madara the way she did. He was used to watching legendary shinobi and daimyo shake in their sandals when Madara entered a room. He was used to watching Madara kill any ninja that managed to land a blow on him with nothing more than a look. Used to the idea that he would always be the only one who got to see that imposing face twist in pain-turned-pleasure as he wrung orgasmic moans out of his pale, easily-bruised neck.

“Well, come on honey.” Mito tapped her hand against Hashirama’s cheek once, just hard enough to make a sound, then dropped her hand to take his hand instead. She lead him over to where Madara hung belly-down from the chain, spinning slowly, breathing slowly. Thin golden chains, alive with chakra, crisscrossed his body, carving geometric shapes across his pale torso. His wrists were tied intricately behind his back, and his ankles were hitched loosely to the main suspension. Chains wrapped up his legs and around his ass, wound tightly around his dick and balls, a small knot put soft pressure on his gooch. He was gagged not by a physical instrument but by a weak seal; the black fuinjutsu ink danced from his tongue to his lips in dainty, entrancing patterns. Hashirama took all of this in, and felt his chest fill with butterflies. He had never in his life seen his husband so vulnerable. Not when he was lying in a pool of half his blood in the final valley, not when he was bent over a chest of weapons crying for Hashirama’s cock, not when he was on his knees in front of Mito and Hashirama begging to be allowed to marry them. No, this was a different kind of vulnerability, a physical vulnerability that Mito had somehow teased out from him willingly. She hadn’t allowed Hashirama to be there as she tied him up. Said that the presence of a rival might “hinder his progression into sub space,” whatever that meant. But, considering the distant look in Madara’s dark eyes, Hashirama figured that maybe she was right.

Mito was kneeling down in front of Madara now. She dragged her fingers down his torso, over the repeating patterns of flesh and metal, flesh and metal until her hand landed gently cupped around Madara’s balls. She looked up at him, and met his eyes. Nobody but Hashirama and Mito were stupid enough to look Uchiha Madara in the eyes. But in this situation, with Madara tied up, it meant “I am not afraid of you, my chains are stronger than your eyes.” And it drove Madara crazy.

Heat welled in his crotch as his dick started to perk up, instantly strangled by the hard metal restraints. The chains weren’t cold, exactly, not like real metal is cold. They felt alive but almost numbing, because they were formed out of pure physical sealing chakra. Mito stroked his dick. “Good boy,” she whispered more to the twitching penis than to the man it was attached to. Her pink lips glistened in the low light of the room and Hashirama forgot who he was.

“Good boy,” he whispered to himself and reached for his hardening cock.

Madara tried to say something, and the suspension jangled as he strained against the chains. Mito looked back up to his face, which was hanging above her, coarse black hair tickling her shoulders. When she spoke, her voice was sweet, but with a definite edge. Like a knife dripping in honey. “Madara, sweetie, stop fighting me. I want you in pure submission.”

She watched him try to slow his breathing, but fail to slow the pulse pounding in his neck. Mito dropped his dick and lay her hand on his forehead instead. What happened next happened so fast Hashirama couldn’t keep track of it: suddenly deep purple lines flowed out from the seal on Mito’s forehead. They snaked across her whole body, then through her hand to Madara’s. For a very intense, very long microsecond, the two were locked in something very intense. Then the purple lines were gone and Madara’s heartbeat had slowed down to a pace Mito thought appropriate.

“Much better,” she smiled and leaned back down to Madara’s dick. She made quick work of getting it hard again, even as it was choked by her binding chains. She licked the tip with the flat of her tongue, then sucked the squishy head into her mouth. Spit dripped from her lips and down his shaft, shiny and thick. And suddenly her hands were on his hips, and she was swinging him towards her open mouth. Swinging him slowly, gently, into her face and down her throat.

Hashirama watched, mesmerized as her throat bulged when she took all of him, as Madara closed his eyes and whimpered against the gag. He was so painfully hard by now that he could see no other option but to slump against the wall and stroke himself at her pace. He bit his lip and watched his elegant red-haired princess wife calmly take all twelve inches of his ripped barbarian husband down her dainty throat.

Something unspoken passed between the two and Mito hummed onto Madara’s cock then let go of his hips, letting him swing freely into her mouth. She caught one of the ribbons of saliva from her mouth and trace it across his balls and his gooch towards his asshole, which Hashirama could only imagine was hot and throbbing at all this attention. And all of a sudden Mito is smiling, and all of a sudden Madara is cumming. His muscles are rippling against the chains and he’s shouting so loudly he breaks the seal on his tongue. “Fuck, Mito! Fuck!”

“Fuck,” Hashirama repeats breathlessly and keeps jerking off, as fast as he can handle, as his eyes close and his jaw goes slack, then he felt himself clench and throb and cum onto his hand and his yukata and the floor. A couple breaths, and he opened his eyes again, but everything is still blurry. Madara is still in motion and… God, she’s still sucking him even after he came. She’s brutal.

Mito didn’t let Madara’s soft cock free until his swinging naturally slowed to a stop. Then she stood up, dusted off her knees, and wiped her mouth.

“Damn, Mito, what the fuck has gotten into you?” Madara slurred.

“You, I guess,” Mito said lightly, her voice hoarse from the throat fucking, her tone dangerous. She leaned down to kiss his forehead, then his cheek, and then his lips. When she pulled away, his lips were sealed again. This time the gag was stronger. She stroked his cheek with the back of her hand. “Rest up, babe,” she smiled. “You’re about to get fucked.”

Hashirama couldn’t help but let out a weak noise from where he sat against the wall, all crumpled yukata and drying jizz. She turned to look at him. Her eyes were different, scarier.

“Y-really? You’re going to fuck him? After… that?” Hashirama didn’t know why he was even asking. He knew what his wife was capable of.

“Of course, wouldn’t you?” she asked matter-of-factly.

Hashirama just shifted his legs and then groaned slightly. No, he wouldn’t, the man clearly needed a break. But today he was Mito’s, not his. “What happened with the byakugo?” He gestured loosely towards Mito’s forehead.

“Ah. Well.” Mito summoned her harness from a seal tattooed on her inner thigh and fastened it around her hips as she explained. “The chains weren’t working, he kept straining against them. I need him truly subdued, you know? So it’s just a little sealing jutsu I’ve been working on, I extend my chakra into his system so I can throttle his chakra flow at will. So if he tries to fight back, you know, I can just… make it so he’s not fighting back.” She smiled a smile that would almost be pleasant if it weren’t so fucking scary. “Now, babe, why don’t you make me a dick?”

Hashirama gaped at her.

“Chop chop,” she urged. “Madara’s getting cold.”

“Wood style: ionian column dildo technique,” Hashirama muttered and began weaving hand signs.

Mito waved her hand impatiently. “Bigger than that. Bigger than you.”

Hashirama looked up at her.

She nodded. “Think of the biggest one you could take, and make it bigger than that, too.”

Hashirama winced. He didn’t want to think about the biggest dick he could take. But he obediently wove a couple different hand signs and announced: “Wood style: four pillar dildo technique” to grow what was essentially a wooden club with a bulbous tip and a flared end. He handed it to Mito. “Is this big enough?” he asked cautiously.

She slipped it into her harness and weighed it in her hand. “It’s perfect.” She bent over the giant dick and kissed Hashirama’s forehead. She also extended fine threads of chakra through the veins of the wood, making the dildo glow a faint purple. Hashirama recognized that technique. By extending her chakra into the dick, Mito was able to feel it almost as if it were connected to her. And she put on a damn good show… Hashirama took a deep breath in anticipation as he watched her turn and walk back to his husband.

“I’m afraid you might need your voice for this,” Mito cooed and removed the seal from Madara’s tongue. “But don’t get chatty or I’ll take it away for good.”

Madara hummed an approval.

“I’m not sure this is going to fit inside you,” she explained, a cruel smile dancing across her lips, “so I need you to tell me if I’m treating you okay.”

“Be gentle at first…” Madara whispered, surprised he was being allowed to speak.

“Of course, of course. You can trust me, beautiful. I would never give you more than you could handle, now would I, husband?” She positioned herself between Madara’s tethered legs and began to rub lube over her giant cock, the wet noises loud in the room. Then she reached over to smooth it onto his hole. “The first part is going to be tough, but once it’s in, it’ll get easier, I promise.”

“Got it.” Madara took a deep breath in, bracing himself.

Mito guided her husband’s ass against the tip of her strap gently. She rocked him back against it almost too slowly, pushing it in a tiny bit at a time. Madara groaned from somewhere deep inside him, and Hashirama knew that groan. Knew how tight and wet it must feel inside him right now, knew how he must be throbbing on the dick that’s… not even in him yet, by the looks of it. Mito’s barely got half the tip in when Madara starts begging her, “keep going Mito, I want to feel you.”

But she just shushed him and kept working him back onto her little by little. “I know it’s hard, husband, but don’t ask for things you can’t handle. You won’t get them.”

Madara and Hashirama both choked on their spit, as if in unison. Mito was so fucking hot. Her small body was practically bursting at the seams with chakra, and she still managed to control not only herself and the nine-tailed fox but also the two strongest shinobi alive. It defied understanding, it really did.

“Good job, Mads, you’re halfway there,” Mito whispered, her voice husky. She was getting impatient. But she kept rocking Madara back onto her little by little, knowing that if she went even a little faster with a dick this big, she’d run the risk of hurting him more than she wanted to.

When Mito finally got the whole thing in, both her and Madara exhaled in horny unison. She was so desperate for him that she forgot to re-gag him, and he was so weak for her he couldn’t talk even if he wanted to. She stepped forward so her harness was the center of Madara’s swing, so she could fuck him back and forth on her dick with maximum force. “God,” she whispered, legitimately salivating, “you’re so fucking tight.”

Madara just moaned in response.

Mito’s thrusts at the bottom of each swing became more rough and more wild, her hips smacking against Madara’s thighs and the chains jangling with the force.

It was all of these sounds, but especially the sound of Mito growling that sent Hashirama over the fucking edge. He gripped his prick, willing himself to be gentle. Gentle as he watched Mito fuck the everliving shit out of Madara in front of him.

Madara’s erection flopped helplessly against his stomach as he swung, and he groaned Mito’s name. And just when Hashirama thought this couldn’t possibly get any hotter, Mito spoke again.

“Good god, there you go, Madara. Submit to me, baby... oh god, call me master?” She asked, her breath catching between thrusts.

Hashirama has never in the hundred or so years they’d been married heard Madara call someone master. Never once. And so it felt like his heart—and cock—split in half when he heard Madara’s deep voice, usually so commanding, helplessly plead, “Anything for you, Mito-sama... Master”

Hashirama closed his eyes so he could focus on the sounds of Mito moaning and her jangling thrusts drawing out breathy cries of “yes master” from her canvas. His husband. His helpless, restrained, rival of a husband.

Hashirama’s eyes fluttered open just in time to see Madara cum a second time, blowing his load all over the floor with an anguished yell.

Mito squealed when Madara came. Hashirama could only imagine how Madara’s hot asshole felt around a dildo of that absolute size, and he could have felt bad for Mito if he wasn’t so damn turned on. Jerking himself off in long strokes, Hashirama watched Mito and mouthed, “keep fucking him, Mito-sama... show him who’s boss” but Mito didn’t seem to hear his plea as she started gasping and flushing between Madara’s legs. She gripped his waist to steady herself, leaned all her weight into him so she wouldn’t crumple as her knees got weak and wobbly with the strength of her orgasm. She pumped him back and forth over her cock a slowly a couple more times, eyes closed, mouth moist and open, body glistening with sweat and ecstasy. Hashirama stroked himself in time with her, and it was painfully slow. Too slow. Impatient, he sped up while he watched his wife, all come out, leaning against Madara and trying to catch her breath. He focused on their sweaty bodies, at their jagged breaths rising and falling in their chests. On the bulges of pale skin between metal chains. On the bruises along Madara’s ribs where the chains had pulled too tight. Tracing the bruises with his eyes, Hashirama wrung another overwhelming orgasm out of himself and where his cum hit the floorboards, saplings began to sprout.

Mito’s gentle voice brought Hashirama back to reality. She was coaxing her massive dick out of Madara: “Honey, let me know if it hurts. The tip might be difficult coming out... there... nice job baby.” She held his hips steady and waddled backwards away from him, and the strap kept coming... his post-nut clarity kicking in, Hashirama thought that really is way too big. Finally, she backed out the round tip, which slipped out of Madara’s ass with a satisfying squelch. Hashirama could see Madara’s body deflate, he could just imagine how empty the poor man must feel right now. He wanted to go up to him, wanted to grab him in a big tight hug and fill him with healing chakra. So he started to stand up, but when the motion caught Mito’s eyes she shot him a warning look. “Don’t come any closer,” her eyes said. “Let me do what I’m good at.” So Hashirama settled back down into what was now more like a patch of heather than a seat in the corner of a room to watch his wife.

Mito unhooked her harness and let the wooden dick clatter to the floor. She walked around so she could see Madara’s face, and kissed his lips gently. Licked some drool off his chin. Then, she asked him, “Are you ready to be lowered down, my sweet?”

Madara couldn’t nod. “Yeh,” he mumbled in response. Mito turned and crossed the room to where the chain was hitched to the wall, and began untying it to let Madara down. “Honey, let me know at any time if I’m moving too quickly.”

Madara grunted in acknowledgement and caught his breath as Mito gently lowered him to the ground. She knelt beside him and healed his skin as the chains unwound themselves slowly from his body, snaking across his skin, revealing the indentations and bruises underneath. She made eye contact with Hashirama, asking him bluntly, “help me out.”

The rest of that evening was spent fawning over Uchiha Madara, who remained woozy and rope-drunk for hours.


End file.
